


Still My Isaac

by photonromance



Category: Dead Space
Genre: Hopeful Ending, M/M, Necromorph!Isaac, Other, turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photonromance/pseuds/photonromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infection is slow. He hadn't really noticed at first. Thought maybe it was stress, maybe he was finally cracking. He was cold, all the time. He feet go numb. He feels himself falling apart and John watches it happen. They've become friends, more than that, out of fear and necessity. But a lover is lover and Isaac can't bear the fear in John's face when they figure it out. He'll run. Frighted and sick. But he can't bring himself to end it. Too selfish. And he turns, melts and mutates, twists into a creature. But he thinks. He knows and feels and remembers. It's just enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still My Isaac

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt fill for the dead Dead Space kink meme. The prompter asked for Necromorph!Isaac and how John would have to deal with that.

It seemed a simple enough wound, as far as injuries go. The creature tore straight though the thin gasps between the plates of Isaac's armor, slicing a deep gouge across his ribs. John blasts the thing to pieces while Isaac catches his breath. They find a storage room, devoid of vents, and John threatens Isaac into peeling away the upper half of his RIG. It looks much worse that way. They clean it with rags from a box on a shelf and wash it with canteen water. John insists on using a kit and Isaac protests. He pops the seal on a small bottle and Isaac bites his lip as it burns into the wound. They half-ass the bandages with scraps they find around the room. John is anything but clinical, his hands slow and careful, offering comforting little caresses when they can be spared. 

The kit should have killed any infection. It was no ordinary infection. 

It feels like the flu, at first. Isaac tells himself it's the stress, he's only exhausted. John has to take up the slack and Isaac tries to hide the fact he sicks up every little meal they have. It's five days later, Isaac is stumbling and avoiding food outright, when John rips open his RIG to relieve the fever heat. 

Isaac is too tired to raise his head, but the look on John's face has him trying. "John, what-" He cuts himself short, now familiar pain stealing his breath. 

John looks up at him, stricken. "It's infected." He sounds breathless too. 

When Isaac gets a look, it's worse than he anticipates. The edges are turning black, angry red swell spreading from there. John's hands shake as he washes it again, tearing open a full kit. An hour later, John strips off his own RIG to spoon up behind Isaac while they sleep. He claims it's to keep watch of his fever, but Isaac knows desperation when he sees it. They both know he's going to die. Isaac hates himself when he realizes he'll leave John alone in this hell hole..

But he doesn't die, not right away, the fever gets better in fact and he feels stronger. John looks less desperate and Isaac doesn't let him see that the blackness is spreading. A swelling the length of his palm becomes a hand length, then a hand and a half. His skin is cold, though he doesn't feel it. He's thinner and a shade of sickly. The pain dies off and none of it makes sense. When Isaac realizes the truth, he wishes he was only going to die. 

In days, the black covers most of his chest. There's a break in the chaos one night (more or less) and John begins to ease into Isaac's space, his way of asking permission. Isaac can't bear it and pretends he's tired, promises they can tomorrow, he just wants to sleep. John acquiesces, settling for a kiss and getting to hold him when they curl up, full suits between them. Isaac leaves that night. He hasn't slept in days, doesn't feel the need to, and he stays awake and soaks up the warmth of it. Having John, or anybody really, willing to hold him, despite their situation. He feels wanted and that makes it harder to leave. But he does. He eases out of John's arms, sets his cutter down and all his supplies beside it. John will need it more than Isaac. The trembling kiss he presses to John's temple almost rouses him, but Isaac soothes him asleep. 

John wakes up alone. Honestly, it's the most terrifying thing that's happened since this whole affair began. He hasn't been alone since Isaac joined their crew. He scrambles up, grasping for his gun, right where he left it. He finds Isaac's supplies, stacked neatly with his cutter in the corner. The sight of the cutter, more than anything, has John out the door, calling Isaac's name. The monsters come for him. 

He slaughters. 

It's hours later, exhausted and hungry, John collapses back in the storage room. (Their storage room now.) He's out of rounds and all alone. There's enough food for a week, he thinks dazedly, he can start a grid search tomorrow. John passes out without eating. 

He wakes up and sits against the wall. John stares at the cutter on the floor, startled by a tapping at the door. It goes on for almost an hour and he figures it must be a monster and ignores it. It stops and starts irregularly and John doesn't investigate. He has part of a ration bar, a few drinks of water, but mostly he curls up against the wall and looks at Isaac's stack of supplies and absorbs how very dead Isaac likely is. 

The next day, the tapping is driving him to madness. It's only a monster, but goddamn, John wants it dead. He hesitates a second before picking up Isaac's cutter. He's out of rounds for his rifle, but it's so personal. John slams open the door and sweeps the area with the cutter. There is a creature, but it is smaller than the other upright monsters have been, it is hunched and flinches away from John, instead of attacking. 

It's the only thing that stops him from pulling the trigger. 

The creature wails, but softly. It sounds injured and there's no reason it should make John hesitate. This thing could have been the one that killed Isaac, might have ripped at his flesh until he bled to death. But it cries out, pitiful, and raises it's head. The eyes. It's eyes are a gorgeous blend of baby blue and spring green and John looses his breath as if he's been punched. "Isaac?" He gasps, knowing as he speaks it's the truth. The creature shrieks. It's jaw is shattered, flesh melted to it's chest in a fluid sweep. It's turned aside, kneeling on thin legs still dressed in the rags of a RIG. "Oh my god, Isaac." John stumbles back a step, catching the door and shoving himself back in. The creature shuffles after him, still not standing. It keens, desperation vocalized as it follows.

Isaac isn't mindless, the way he'd expected it would feel. He's so much like himself, it hurts to be trapped in this body. He's disfigured and horrific and he expects John to put him out of his misery. But he doesn't. How he recognizes Isaac when Isaac doesn't recognize himself, he doesn't understand. He follows John into the room, trying to stay close. Bless John, he hasn't shot him, but that's what he's really here for. He can't bear sentience in this body. 

He closes in on John in the small space, working up to his feet. Taller than John, but smaller than most of the creatures they face. He wants to say, "Please, if you ever loved me, you'd end it." But all he can do is screech. John's hand is shaking, the cutter with it. Isaac dips down to look at it and back up at John, pleading for understanding. John follows his glance, looking between them a long time before throwing the cutter aside. It skitters across the floor and Isaac watches it slide before turning back with another wail, louder this time. "No." John says, his voice trembling, "I won't let you leave me." 

Fury blooms in Isaac, hotter than it would before. He's pinning John to the wall before he knows it, the other man's boots inches from the floor. John is gasping for breath against Isaac's bony black hands, his eyes wet with unshed tears as he refuses to kick out, only pulling at the fingers wrapped around his throat. "Won't." He rasps, "Need- you." Isaac drops him and John, crumbles to the floor, holding his throat. Isaac steps back, pressing himself back to the wall, fear and revulsion washing though him. He wants to look down at his hands, a human gesture, but he doesn't want to look at what he's become. 

John is gagging, likely going to be bruised from Isaac's hold and Isaac is ashamed. He moves closer, using one thin arm to help John to his feet. He doesn't act frightened, accepting the help and leaning into the foreign body. He recovers his breath and manages to stare up at Isaac, defiant. "You tried to leave me here alone." He accuses, "I don't see why I should give you an easy way out of this."

It's all true and Isaac realizes suddenly how stupid and selfish he's been. He tries to make a soft sound, succeeding only slightly. He lowers his head and repeats it. The only supplication he can manage. John softens at the sight. "Please don't leave me again." He murmurs, reaching out. He barely hesitates before touching Isaac's melted flesh, following the subtle curves from cheekbone to collar. "You're changed," John admits, "but you're still you. I can see that. And you know it. I'm sorry our lives are so fucked up, but there's no point in me going on without you." His fingers find the scar left by the wound that began Isaac's transformation and he caresses it, sadness in his eyes. John looks up at him, the dark shadows under his eyes and bruises blooming around his throat. Isaac hunches over. His arms are not so flexible anymore and wrapping them around John is difficult. It's worth it when John returns the hold, squeezing him tight for a long time. "We can do this." John whispers, "We've gotten this far. We can do this."


End file.
